Baby Steps
by heists
Summary: At their mentors' insistence, Roy and Artemis try acting civil. They're surprised when they find the other might not be as bad as they thought. But what goes up, must come down. :: hinted Roy/Artemis. Written before "Insecurity," so slightly AU.
1. Moving Forward

"You could have said no," she muttered to herself, shifting on her feet outside the apartment door as she tried to ignore the fine carpets and marble details present in the hallway. "Sure, Kaldur, I'll just drop this evidence by the guy who hates my guts. No big deal. After all, I _totally _live in Star City with my _uncle_ Green Arrow, so it's not like it's out of my way—"

She cut herself off when the door opened, revealing a Roy Harper that Artemis wasn't altogether familiar with.

Read: maskless. And shirtless.

Artemis blinked once, twice, then struck down the flush that threatened to redden her face.

Hell, she may not like him much, but _hot damn_.

"Were you just talking to yourself?" His question pulled her thoughts away from a primal place and into the realm of normalcy.

She smirked—no way was he letting him catch her off-guard. "No, I was talking to the purple people-eater."

His flat stare confirmed that he found her 100 percent un-amusing today.

_No different from any other day then, huh?_

"What are you doing here, Artemis?"

"Dropping this load off," she lifted the box in her hands just enough to bring his attention to it.

For an instant, she saw something flash across his face: a furrowed brow, a twitch of the fingers—hesitation.

But then, with a blink, it was gone. "Well, come on, then," he said, motioning for her to come in.

A grimace threatened to overtake her features as she replied: "I think I'll just leave it with you then be on my way, actually."

"Artemis."

_Insistent, isn't he?_

She met his blue eyes, and again she fought down a sudden wave of urges and desires best left untouched. With a hard swallow, she subdued them; that road contained far too many complications.

"I'm really not in the mood for chivalry, Harper, so—"

"Get your ass in here before I drag you by the ponytail."

Her eyes went wide at his shift in tone. "You wouldn't," she responded, then narrowed her eyes as she sized him up.

He arched his brows, leaned against the door frame, and crossed his arms. "Try me."

Two minutes later found her accepting a mug of (admittedly excellent) coffee, trying to keep from grumbling too much.

She watched him move through the kitchen with furrowed brows, trying to pick him apart.

"A picture would last longer, Artemis," he called out, not even pausing to look at her.

She snorted into the brown swill, nearly choking. Rather than rising to the bait, she decided on another thread of conversation. "So why, exactly," she said, "are you suddenly so willing to invite me into your house?"

Now he did pause, his hand half-extended to the cabinet above him. "I can't reconsider my opinion of someone? Give her another shot at a first impression?"

She chewed the question over. "Not you," she finally answered. "You're too stubborn to change on your own."

"And you're not?" he asked, turning to face her.

"I never said I wasn't," she shot back. "And at least I'm not evasive—unlike some people I could mention."

"Good joke, Artemis," he responded, finally turning to look at her. He pressed himself against the counter, bracing his hands on the edge. "Tell it again?"

_You'll have to do better than that_. Her face remained impassive—waiting, still refusing to let him goad her.

When it became clear he wasn't going to answer on his own, she took another sip of coffee. Then, leaning forward onto the table, she met his blue eyes once more. "Dinah talked to you, didn't she?"

His surprise showed for only an instant—flashing across his face with wide eyes and an open mouth—before it snuffed itself out. "She might have."

_Too easy_. "It's like you're not even trying to hide anything from me, Harper." She leaned back into the chair and eyed the ceiling, smirking. "Kinda ruins the fun, actually."

"Sorry if I'm not in an indulging mood." She looked back down to see his eyes narrowed and jaw set.

She let a beat pass before getting up, crossing the room to meet him in the kitchen. "C'mon, what'd she say?"

"I don't see how it's your business."

Another upward tilt of her lips. "If you were talking about me, then, well, I don't see how it _isn't_ my business."

A smirk suddenly crept its way onto his face, a new light coming into his eyes as he leaned forward—into her space. She knew this tactic well: he'd gone on the offensive using nothing more than a few physical cues.

"Well, we did, but it was more about her discussions with you—specifically, all the times you'd talk about me." He paused. "Though, 'rant' sounds like a more appropriate word, if I'm remembering Dinah's descriptions accurately."

A sensation like cold water trickled down her back, and she dug her nails into her palms as she struggled to keep her expression even. _Dinah wouldn't tell him, would she_?

She fought the urge to take a step back, while forcing her eyes to remain unchanged. She'd already gained ground—she wouldn't let it go so easily.

"So what'd she say?" she finally asked—once she trusted herself to speak.

"That I should try and play nice with you," he scoffed and crossed his arms. "Give you a shot at earning my trust."

Hands on her hips, she responded: "And this is your attempt at appeasing her?"

"Considering she told you the same thing—and I know she did," he said, "I'd say this is a mutual attempt. Don't go making me out to be the only guilty party."

A response to that was not forthcoming, much to her chagrin. The silence stretched between them, growing taut as a rubber band and threatening to snap.

When she could bear it no longer: "What now, then?"

He didn't answer for a moment, then shrugged.

"Baby steps, I guess."

—

When he said "baby steps," this wasn't exactly what he had in mind.

Regardless, he didn't complain when a slew of dark green arrows—too short to belong to GA himself—fell into the alley, laying into three of the goons he was fighting off.

Though he'd taken out the firearm-equipped brutes before leaping directly into the fray, he was still outnumbered by crowbars and baseball bats. When a bolt of long blond hair flashed behind him, he couldn't help but feel a rush of relief wash over him.

_Not that she ever needs to know about that._

They made short work of the men, until only one remained conscious. Red Arrow drove him hard against the wall. "Talk."

"Fuck off, Speedy." Red Arrow's grip on the man's neck tightened. The man only smirked. "You don't kill bastards like me, _hero_."

A _thwok_ sound suddenly filled the alley, and the next instant there was an arrow embedded in the wall, just millimeters from the man's head.

"Maybe he won't." Both males turned to find Artemis standing there, another arrow already aimed and notched. "But I will." Taking in her stance, Red Arrow realized that the next time she took a shot, she wouldn't waste time with a warning.

"You're Green Arrow's sidekick," the man said, still trying to sound sure of himself. "You wouldn't kill anyone either, blondie."

"Mm." The smile that crept across her lips was far from reassuring. "Green Arrow has yet to impress upon me the value of leaving enemies alive. You know your buddies that turned up dead in Gotham?" Recognition flashed across the man's face, before it paled to fear. Even Red Arrow felt a thrill run up his spine, setting his hair on end. "I see you do. So you'll understand that when I suggest you loosen your jaw, it's in your best interest to comply."

Scrambling now, the man continued to protest: "You're bluffing."

_Is she?_

And suddenly, there was an arrow in the man's hand.

"_Talk_," Artemis insisted.

The stream of information that flew from the man's mouth was astounding.

At last, Red Arrow had all he needed. With a few squeezes to some key pressure points, he knocked the man out.

_She's convincing_, he thought to himself as he went about restraining the man, _I'll give her that much._

That done, he turned to face Artemis. "I had it taken care of," he said.

She crossed her arms and smirked. "Yeah, that's why one of those morons was about to knife you in the back before I showed up."

He had no response to that, and instead chose to pursue another subject. "How serious were you?" he asked. "Just now?"

She considered the question, eyes floating upward to take in the night sky as if it contained the answer. For a fleeting moment, the thought—that she _had _been telling the truth—raced through his mind.

It must have shown on his face, because she suddenly laughed—clear and easy. "Yeah, I was bluffing. Don't worry your pretty little head, Red."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes and shake his head, despite the smile threatening at his lips.

Somehow, though, he couldn't put that supposed 'bluff' out of his mind.

—

Roy Harper did not consider himself a paranoid person. He made an effort to remain level-headed and logical whenever possible, and very rarely let himself stress over what was likely nothing.

Living and working alone, however, wasn't exactly a conducive way to maintain this outlook.

Subsequently, finding a moving shadow in his dark living room was hardly going to lead anywhere good. Within an instant of catching the form lingering near the windows, he'd drawn his bow and notched an arrow.

"You have five seconds to tell me who you are," he warned.

"Jesus, Harper! It's _me_." Then a lamp came on, and Roy saw that it was, in fact, Artemis. With her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, it was almost as though _he_ had done something wrong.

_This is strangely ironic._

He lowered his bow and eyed her, scowling. "What are you doing here, Artemis?"

Now her disapproval faltered, arms dropping to her sides while she diverted her gaze—looking at anything but him. "I can't stop by to—"

He spared her the trouble and cut her off before she could finish the weak lie. "What's going on?"

She looked almost relieved he had stopped her from continuing, her shoulders easing just a little. "We had—" she stopped, took a deep breath, and folded her arms across her stomach before continuing: "The team's going through a rough patch. Ollie's on travel with the League. And my place is…"

_Out of the question_.

He knew the feeling, knew how the words tasted on the tip of her tongue.

"I just needed someon—some_where_." She looked away again. "You—_this_ was closest."

"And from the sounds of it," he said, "the only one available." He was going out on a limb, and it threatened to snap from underneath him if she so chose—if he was wrong.

_But I'm not_.

She opened her mouth to deny that, but nothing came. "Yeah," she finally conceded, giving herself a light _tch_ sound. "That's pretty accurate."

"Hey," he said, allowing himself a small smirk, "there are worse places to crash."

"I'll give you that," she responded, sending a cursory glance around the apartment. Her eyes lingered on the high ceilings, the elegant furniture and the granite surfaces. "How do you even afford this?"

Leave it to Artemis to ask the politically incorrect questions—how she'd kept them to herself during her first visit was beyond him.

"I have enough money stored away," was all he answered with.

She turned to him, and he knew she understood that was all he could trust her with.

_For now, at least_, he thought to himself. He couldn't deny that they were making progress—slowly, but surely.

"How'd you even get in?"

"Fire escape."

"… I don't have a fire escape."

She turned, smiling. "You do now."

—

From then on—and he wasn't entirely sure how—her appearances at his apartment became a regular thing. Most of the time, it was just to mooch: food, his satellite TV, internet. At first, he scowled and drilled her with questions: _"What are you doing here?"_ _"What, are you homeless?" _– that sort. But she remained unfazed by his attitude, coming in through the window even after he replaced the locks—twice. At that point, he gave up.

"_And beating the lock was half the fun_," she had said, smirking.

"_You're just lucky the alarm system hasn't been installed yet_," he'd grumbled.

But slowly, his complaints shifted to simpler gripes: _"Jesus, kid, take your shoes off at the door." "Quit surfing and pick a damn channel."_

He's even grown to appreciate those evenings she comes by: Star City is quiet, he's in the kitchen throwing something together, and she's in the living room watching TV or working on her bow and arrows. It made the expensive apartment feel a little less empty.

Like tonight, for example, when she's watching a shit movie (and making comments on just how shit it is).

"If you don't like it," he finally called out, cutting her off in the middle of her rant, "why don't you change it?"

"That would require getting the remote," she answered. "Which is currently across the room and thus out of my reach."

"So I take it you won't be getting up to, y'know, eat?"

She shot up so quickly, it was a wonder she didn't knock holes into the floor.

"That's what I thought," he said, watching her grab the plate he offered before jumping back into her usual seat in the armchair, picking up the remote control on the way.

"Have you ever considered that, being my house," he began, taking a seat on the couch, "I should be the one that gets to pick the channels?"

She swallowed the forkful of noodles and paused in her scanning before answering: "I'm the guest here, Harper. Thus—"

"I think you're mistaking 'guest' for 'freeloader,'" he muttered under his breath; she heard him regardless.

"Deal with it," she shot back, finally stopping at a movie that took Roy a minute to place.

"This is the new _Indiana Jones_, isn't it?" he asked, making no effort to hide his disdain.

"It's not _that_ bad—"

"Yes, it is—almost as bad as the Star Wars prequels, and that's saying something."

"That's stretching!" she exclaimed. "It's better than _Temple of Doom_, at least."

"You're delusional."

"I am not!"

"That means a lot, coming from you."

She huffed. "We could get pay-per-view," she suggested.

"I'm not paying six dollars to watch a movie once."

"Says the guy with a luxury apartment!"

"My money, my decision." He stuffed the fork in his mouth to end the discussion.

She chucked something at him in response.

"Thanks for the remote."

"Jerk."

—

Roy has come to realize that when Artemis meant business, she made an effort to use the door.

Take today, for instance: when he opened the door, her eyes were stormy and a scowl was carving a line into her face.

_This is bound to end well_.

He almost smirked. "What did I do this time?"

"How does casting a shadow sound?" she replied.

He blinked. She crossed her arms and waited for him to respond, as if the answer was dancing in front of him wearing nothing but heels and fishnets.

Subduing a sigh, he decided to indulge her. "I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate."

She rolled her eyes and spoke, counting off the phrases on her fingers as she went. "'Red Arrow wouldn't do this.' 'Roy would know better.' 'God, Artemis, you really don't get it, do you?' 'I can't believe Green Arrow thought you were good enough.'"

"…Wally?" he ventured.

"How _ever _could you tell?" she shot back, eyes rolling.

"You can't take everything he says personally."

"I know that!"

"And yet, you're here, complaining to me," he said. Before she could vehemently respond, he continued: "What is it you want me to do, Artemis?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

"Thought so." Without any preempt, he took her by the wrist and led her inside. Judging by the lack of true struggle, she wasn't too bothered. She'd clearly come here for a reason, then, even if she wasn't sure of it.

He let go of her once they reach the kitchen, and he expected her to take a chair. When she remained standing, he felt compelled to do the same.

"Are you just going to stand there mutely, or am I going to have to drag this out of you?"

"You're an ass," she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I hadn't noticed."

She scoffed her eyes fixed on the window—her usual entranceway. "What do I have to do, Roy?" she finally asked, almost as if she wasn't expecting an answer.

He gave her one anyways: "Prove yourself."

That, apparently, wasn't the answer she was looking for. "I've tried!" she exclaimed, thrusting her arms up and out in exasperation. "I've saved _his_ ass, the team's ass—Oliver trusts me—"

He couldn't help it: "You're stretching, there."

Now she whirled on him, gray eyes burning. "Don't _you_ go telling _me_ how he feels. You surrendered that privilege when you walked out on him."

Just like that, he'd become the outlet for her anger. He wondered if he wasn't the target to begin with.

But he wasn't going to take it lying down, that was for certain. "If I hadn't 'surrendered that privilege,'" he said, "you wouldn't even have this gig in the first place. Or did you forget?"

"Damn it, Roy!" she yelled, taking a step closer, so that she was mere inches away and looking up into his eyes. "I've done everything I can to show you that you can trust me, that you don't have to worry about me hurting them—"

Then he realized: _This isn't about Wally_. _Or Ollie._

"Do you hear yourself?" he asked. "You're not talking about proving yourself to the team or to Ollie—you're talking about me."

Her mouth worked furiously, but again she could find nothing to say. Then, before the silence completely overtook them, a strangled laugh crawled from her throat.

"I don't get it," she finally managed, her voice smaller now. "I would have killed to be on this team, working with Ollie, and you—you just gave it up."

"You wouldn't understand," he said, voice low.

"No," she agreed, "I don't. What I do understand is that you have an issue with me."

"So does Wally."

"You think I care about what he says?"

"Apparently you do, or you wouldn't let what he said get under your skin."

"It doesn't!"

"Then why are you here?"

"Because every time they look at me, I know they're comparing me to you!" she exclaimed, arms going skyward in her frustration. "They can't see me—just the shadow of Speedy."

"Red Arrow," he corrected automatically.

"Whatever," she ground out. "I'm sick of it. No matter what I do, nothing changes!"

"What is it you want me to say, Artemis? What do you want me to do? Tell them you have my full approval? For the record, you don't—"

"And that's the problem!" she exclaimed.

"Then the burden is on _you_, Artemis!" he shouted. She shrank back, the volume throwing her. "I'm not going to go along with a copycat stranger—who I know for a fact is lying about her background—taking my place and potentially putting my friends at risk."

"And yet you let me into your apartment," she scoffed. "We both know you could kick me out at any time—if you don't trust me, then why have you put off installing that alarm system? Why do you let me break in, eat your food?"

"'Baby steps,' remember?" he replied. "Putting myself at risk to get a feel for you is a lot different than working on a covert ops team. It's one I'm willing to take—for their sake."

"How noble of you," she said, acid dripping from her words. "So I'm doomed to live in your shadow until _you_ deem fit." She looked away, a sneer marring her face. "Maybe I would have been better off if you never left."

"You don't like it? You're free to walk out at any time—I already did."

"What, and become even more of a copycat?" She snorted. "I don't think so."

"And subject yourself to this?"

"What I'm being 'subjected' to is the same reason _you left_. Trust—or lack of it."

"I left because people were treating me as though I was incapable of hearing the truth, of being kept in the dark and because the league was withholding information—same as you are, right now. I don't even know your last name—but you already know mine. You don't think that unnerves me? You keep telling me I can trust you, but you keep everything under the rug. _You_ tell me what I'm supposed to make of that."

Something in her eyes flashed, and for a moment he believed it could have been hesitation. Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Finally, she found a response: "I keep things from them to protect them. They don't deserve that burden—_my_ burden." She looked up from the floor. "Neither do you. I've put my darkness behind me. All I have to back it up is my word—and my service."

Before he could speak, she turned and left the apartment.

She paused just before the doorway, though, to offer him a few more words: "My name is Artemis Crock."

Then she was gone.

Later, he would find himself stepping away from the computer, leaving the Crock public records on his desktop untouched. That could come later—if ever.

_Baby steps._

—

After semi-regular appearances, his nights following her exit had been quiet—the barbs at his habits and quirks went unspoken, the poor table manners unseen. The initial disruption to his routine had faded, until she had shaped a new schedule for the both of them—she had integrated herself into what he considered normal. And after all of that, just to have her disappear from his life altogether—it was nothing short of unsettling. So when he found her sitting in his living room a week later, waiting with pizza and a movie (one of the Bourne films, he believed), he couldn't help but stare.

_And here I was thinking you'd sooner spit in my face than come back here._

Though he'd made very little sound upon his entrance, it was clear she was aware of him. "I know you don't give up on disagreements so easily," she called out, not turning to face him from her place on the couch, "and maybe I'm wrong in assuming this, but: I think you'd like to move forward as well. Or at least try." Now she looked at him, her expression a mixture of hopeful and expectant.

After a stretch of silence—one pregnant with unspoken questions and silent concerns—Roy spoke: "We continue as though nothing happened?"

She pursed her lips, considered, then answered: "I wouldn't say that," she said. "More like… take it as a learning experience and go from there."

"A learning experience?" he repeated.

"Yes."

"You expect me to go along with that?"

"I was hoping for it."

"… is that Guido's pizza?"

She blinked, surprised, then her lips twitched upward—just for an instant. "Yes."

"Pepperoni and onion?"

It was as close to a make-up session they would get.

"Of course."

But he'd take it.

Ten minutes later, after he'd gotten them sodas and sat on the opposite side of the couch, she turned to face him. "So," she began.

He looked over at her, took in how she was picking at the loose threads on the blanket and the way she couldn't bring her eyes to his. "So," he repeated, expectant.

He saw her swallow. "What'd you find?" she asked, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. He didn't have to ask what she meant.

For a moment, he let the silence stretch, until—almost a minute later—she finally met his gaze, seeking the answer. Only then did he answer.

"I didn't look."


	2. Breathing Room

_She really should reconsider her hair._

It was the first thing that crossed Roy's mind when he caught sight of the golden flash. The next second, Artemis dropped down next to him on the rooftop.

_It's kind of conspicuous._

"Need a hand?" she asked.

"Didn't you just come from patrol with Ollie?" It was a redundant question—the rumpled uniform and less-than-streamlined hair already gave him the answer.

She laughed. "You, of all people, are hardly in the place to criticize someone for wanting a little more action."

_Fair enough._

He allowed himself a small smile. "I think I have it covered."

"That's too bad," she said, "because I was only asking as a courtesy. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"You sure?" he asked. "I don't exactly deal with the rogues gallery, you know."

She faced him, a wicked grin lighting up her face. "All the better."

He couldn't bring himself to protest any further.

_So it_ _begins._

* * *

><p>It was Friday. Friday's meant a longer patrol with Ollie.<p>

It was a typical weekend practice—her mother was more forgiving this way, with no school the next day, and let her stay the night in Star City.

So she let Oliver think she was about to drop dead of exhaustion, waited for him to call her mother and inform her she was tucked into bed. Five minutes later, she was dressed and swinging out the window to make her way back downtown.

All told, her joint patrols with Red Arrow became a regular occurrence, after that first time she saved his ass. Roy always waited, too—at the intersection of Twelfth and Main.

They covered the areas she and GA never dealt with, acting in a proactive way—seeking out the crime, investigating and getting information in a way not dissimilar to that first incident—rather than waiting for rogues to announce themselves. Thus, their nights were mostly filled with what was considered the seedier side of crime: back-alley deals, hole-in-the-wall places that reeked of piss and filth.

He didn't need to ask if that was all right by her—if it wasn't, she wouldn't bother coming out this late.

It doesn't take long for it to become a constant of her life.

_Another job, another layer._

Almost an entirely different Artemis, really—one that took a strong pleasure in beating on the monsters and scum of the city. The satisfaction was nearly unparalleled. And it wasn't something she could find anywhere else. Not with Ollie, and certainly not with the team. And so Red Arrow became her gateway—a vehicle.

_And yet._

As the weeks go by, she could feel his gazes last longer. When she slipped, and he reached out to steady her, his hands began to linger. And if she were to analyze her own behavior, her own body language, she wouldn't find many discrepancies between the pair of them.

She ignored it and continued on as if nothing other than a professional relationship existed between them.

But if one were to ask if she felt just a glimmer of pleasure every time she found his eyes on her—

She'd be lying if she said no.

* * *

><p>"Mind your step!" he called over the rain.<p>

She didn't deign to answer, her feet flying over the wet rooftops. She'd caught sight of their target (or, at least, she thought so—pouring rain had the annoying habit of obscuring vision), and he wasn't letting a little water stop him, so _she_ certainly wouldn't slow down. It'd been a few weeks since she'd started to join him on his patrols, and she was only just started to prove to him she could handle it.

There wasn't any room for hesitation in this business—rain or shine.

Granted, this was amongst the worst storms Star City had seen all year, so maybe 'a little water' was an understatement.

_But still._

Besides, she was clearing the jumps just fine. The grips on her boots were doing their job, and so did she. At least, up until the point she landed heel first. Something about the landing set her off balance, and she felt her foot begin to slip out from under her. But before she could begin the descent to the alleyway below, a hand closed around her wrist and yanked her forward. She found herself practically colliding with something solid, another hand reaching around to wrap her in place. Her chest heaved against another, her breathing heavy. Somehow, she didn't realize who was holding her until she looked up and recognized the domino mask.

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but Roy abruptly pulled away before speaking. "We should head home—we're never going to find him in this." He was close enough she could still hear him over the pounding rain, even though he barely raised his voice.

"If we wait it out—"

"Don't argue with me Artemis—that could have been your brain on the concrete just now."

The protests died in her throat as the truth of his statement hit her. "Okay."

A flicker of relief passed over his face before vanishing. He shot a grappling arrow at the building they came from—just a few feet away. After making sure it was secure, he jumped so his feet hit the wall. That done, he began to work his way to the ground. Artemis waited until he was a good part of the way down before following suit.

On her way, her foot—the one that gave out on the rooftop—slipped, sending her sliding down (her wet gloves did little to help gain traction on the similarly damp line). As before, strong hands reached for her, stopping her fall. Roy gripped her waist before she could come crashing down to earth, allowing her to jump the rest of the distance.

That was also a mistake, however, as the same foot (it was out to get her tonight, it seemed) cried out in protest and almost sent her to the ground _again_.

"Okay, three times in one night," Roy said as he pulled her up, "let's not test fate any further."

"I'm fine," she assured, trying to pull away before he could throw one of her arms around his (massive) shoulders. "Seriously, Roy, I'm not an invalid." But when she put weight on her bad foot to demonstrate, she couldn't help but grimace.

"Uh-huh," he replied, "and Kid Flash can't eat his weight in junk food. I'm taking you back to GA's."

"How do you plan on getting in and out without being seen?" she asked, begrudgingly bracing her weight on him.

"You're forgetting I used to live there," he answered as he began to move them forward. "I think I can handle it. I'm more worried about how you're going to explain this ankle of yours."

She didn't miss a beat: "Tell GA it happened on patrol with him and I didn't want to bother him with it, only to wake up and find it in a 'worse state' and 'accidentally' stumble when I go to breakfast."

When he smiled in response, she couldn't help but feel oddly pleased. "By all means," he muttered. "You're certainly stubborn enough for that to work."

"Hey!"

"Don't even try to deny it." He suddenly stopped them, looking up at the sky—with rain still beating down from the heavens—and then at her. "All right, this is entirely too slow for my taste."

"What do you suggest, then?" she asked, frowning as she tried to follow where he was going. When his eyebrows arched—something detectable even behind the mask—it dawned on her. "No. Don't even think about it—"

But with a lame ankle, she was hardly in a position to fight him off. So, without any further warning, she found her legs being scooped from underneath her so that he carried her against his chest.

Her glare went largely unseen, but it made her feel better. "I hate you sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" he responded. "We are making progress, then."

She swatted him on the shoulder. "Ass."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"And my opinion is that you're an ass."

Neither of them mentioned the way she'd stopped shivering, or the warmth blossoming between—it definitely isn't just shared body heat.

And she certainly wasn't going to mention that her ankle didn't hurt_quite_ that much.

* * *

><p>"On your left!" she called out, loosing an arrow in the opposite direction.<p>

He turned and—using his bow—caught the man with a blow to the jaw, then followed through with a fist to the ribs. In the next instant, he pulled a handheld crossbow from the strap on his leg and released three arrows in quick succession. Each of them found their mark: for every shot, a man found his firing hand paralyzed. With that done, he wasted no time in dropping them, using a few well-placed elbows and knees until all hit the ground.

All told, it took about a minute.

When he glanced over his shoulder to check on Artemis, he couldn't help but sigh. Another man, no doubt their leader (if the cheap suit was any indication), had Artemis in a choke-hold—with a gun to her head. Judging by the fact Red Arrow didn't remember seeing the man during the fight, it was likely the man had remained hidden until he could effectively take one of them surprise. And he went for the girl, no less.

_Coward_.

Red Arrow eyed the gun—a typical pistol, undoubtedly capable of lethal force—and tried not to grimace; demonstrating concern would only boost the man's resolve.

"Move," the man said, voice low, "and the girl dies. Put the bow down."

Roy forced himself to remain still, regulate his breathing. He met Artemis eyes, and any questions he had were answered by the steely resolve in her gray eyes.

"Put the bow down."

Red Arrow barely complied, lowering the bow until the previously notched arrow pointed to the ground. "Personally," he began, his voice under control now, "I'd be a little more concerned, if I were you."

The man frowned. "I'm the one with a gun here," he responded. "What do you have? A toy bow and arrow?"

Gesturing around the room, with the floor covered with unconscious bodies, Roy smirked. "Because, clearly, we're incompetent against firearms."

The man faltered.

It was all Artemis needed.

Within an instant, Artemis used the man's hold to haul him over her shoulders. The gun flew from the man's grasp, and as the man came crashing to the floor—Artemis with him—he saw her direct her elbow into his solar plexus. The man's hold slackened, and she used the opportunity to pull herself free, rolling off before springing to her feet. She kicked the gun over to Roy, leaving him to toss it with the rest, before placing a boot on the man's chest.

"Evidently," she said, panting only a little, "you underestimated this girl's strength."

She pulled a pellet of knock-out gas from her belt and tossed it at the ground, activating it. "Let's get out of here," she said, already moving to the door. "SCPD can clean this up."

"I already sent the signal out for them," he responded, following.

"Find what you need?"

"Meaning the manifest detailing Shadow inventory, locations, et cetera?"

"Yeah, that."

"Would I have let you knock the guy out if I hadn't?"

"Tell me, Red Arrow," she began, turning to face him once they reached the alley. "Do you always dance around questions like this?"

"Just yours," he answered, holding up the aforementioned manifest as his answer.

She held his gaze. "Stop smirking," she finally grumbled, accepting his leg up in order to hop onto the fire escape.

"I can't help that these bozos keep taking you for a potential damsel in distress," he called upward, before heading up after her.

"But you _can_ wipe the shit-eating grin off your face."

He stifled a snort. "I also can't help enjoying the way you kick their asses—the surprise on their faces is always priceless."

Judging by the smile he found upon joining her on the roof, that mollified her. "Fair enough," she said. "Let me see the stupid thing." She reached for the manifest, but he quickly pulled it back.

"No way—we're not doing anything else tonight," he insisted.

"Bull," she responded, making another unsuccessful grab for it. "C'mon, Red, the night's still young—"

"Artemis, you need sleep. It's bad enough I let you come out on a Tuesday, when you get so little sleep as it is. You were already out with the team last night, weren't you?"

She sighed. "Yeah, yeah—fine," she conceded.

"Don't be such a drama queen," he responded.

"You just don't want to admit how big of a help I am."

No, not really.

He pushed a playful hand in her face. "Get out of here."

With a mock salute, she was gone.

Ten minutes later, he caught a whisper of long hair behind him. It was the only warning he got.

"_Boo_," she said, her mouth mere inches from his ear.

"You just don't give up, do you?" he asked, taking a step forward so he could better face her.

"Guilty," she replied, not even feigning remorse. "C'mon—just a little longer."

He debated for a moment, taking in her eager eyes and the beginnings of her smirk.

For a moment, he was reminded of a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed dog, but then he realized she took too much after felines for the comparison to hold up.

_So who's the mouse?_

Finally, he responded: "Try to keep up, rookie." He moved forward before she could say anything else, trusting her to follow.

He spent the rest of their patrol replaying her reaction: a laugh, sharp as shards of glass; eyes glinting with an edge he couldn't help but liken to something he remembered from a time in Rhelasia; and the lines of her face, drawn tight and lean.

It was the last thing he remembered before nodding off to sleep that night.

* * *

><p><em>Damn closets.<em>

After running like a madwoman through an utter maze of corridors, a retreat into a well-placed custodial hole-in-the-wall would normally be a welcome respite.

It should have been, at least. Artemis was never quite so lucky—instead of getting some breathing space, she was fighting to keep her own heaving chest to herself.

"God, why do you have to be so _big_?" she asked, struggling not to elbow or knee him somewhere inappropriate. The situation was tense enough without an awkward moment of contact.

Red Arrow, with his huge shoulders and huge arms and _huge everything_, rolled his eyes. "Sorry I got a good set of genes," he responded. "And keep your voice down, genius."

She pursed her lips. "How much longer do we have to stay in here?"

"Until I say so."

She normally would have hung her head, but doing so here would be banging her forehead on his chest. As it was, being forced to hold his masked gaze was almost more awkward.

"I hate waiting games," she mumbled, averting her gaze.

"Patience is a valuable skill, Artemis," he replied. "You just have to find the right moment."

"How do you know, oh wise one?"

He shrugged. Artemis scoffed, unable to keep her skepticism to herself. But she stayed put.

"Experience helps," he explained. "And I guess you could say it's a sense of some kind," he finally said, his voice low.

Artemis pulled her eyes back to him, furrowing her brow. Being mere inches away, it wasn't hard for her to find some physical cues in Red Arrow's face. His expression was softer—more like Roy than Red Arrow. His scowl had faded into a curious frown, as though he were considering something.

_He really is too close._

Even as the thought occurred to her, she realized there was nowhere for her to go.

_Maybe you don't want to go, anyway._

She wasted no time in silencing _that_ inner voice.

"Seems rather imprecise," she said, finally averting her gaze.

"Some things are."

"You don't seem like the type that likes to rely on unknowns."

"I could say the same for you."

She didn't respond to that.

Finally: "Shouldn't they be checking random closets?" she asked.

"They're probably confident enough to think we'll get caught regardless."

With that, she dropped any attempt at maintaining "hero-posture"—she slumped her shoulders and leaned back against the door and exhaled.

"I take it the team hasn't done a whole lot of extended stakeouts yet?"

"Nope—nothing like that. Waiting, yes. Serious stakeouts, no. Apparently we can't handle it."

"Why do they say that?"

She arched her brows. "Have you met Wally?"

"… I see your point."

Footsteps made them fall quiet for a few moments. When it sounded as though they'd gone, she asked: "Can we go _now_?"

"What are you so impatient for?"

"I don't like sitting around," she muttered. "Would I be here with you if I did?"

"Is the team not enough for you? That and patrols with Ollie?"

"It's not the same," she replied. "You know that as well as I do. Ollie treats me like china, as though I might break. My history worries him—he doesn't want to put me under too much, too fast." She scoffed and shook her head. "He thinks I'll revert to what I was."

He doesn't speak for a moment, seemingly absorbing this information, probably because it's the most she's said about herself since this arrangment began. "The team?"

She eyed him. "You weren't completely wrong when you said the team is like a Junior Justice League. Sure, some of the missions get serious, but more often than not we're getting information so the bigger heroes can swoop in and save the day."

"Isn't that the point of a Black Ops team?"

She paused. _True_. "Yeah—I guess I was just expecting a little more."

"You don't seem like the type that would want a lot of attention."

"But that's not it," she responded. "I don't mind that; it's the same here: we don't get a lot of attention, and I prefer it that way."

"Then what is it you're looking for?"

"Something…" she sighed. "Something that means something, I guess."

"That's specific."

"You know what I mean," she said.

She saw his jaw set before he answered, "Do I, Artemis?"

Silence fell over them both.

"I need this," she said after a moment. "I can't describe why—I don't think there are words for it.

"I think you're used to this," Roy said after a moment. "Dealing with the… grittier stuff, I mean. I think you missed it."

A frown worked its way across her features. _Mind your step, Roy. Get any closer and you risk getting burned. _"You don't know that."

"No, I don't," he agreed, "but you don't make speculation that hard. Keeping your past from the team doesn't exactly hint at a good background."

Her eyes narrowed. "I think we've waited long enough."

She started to exit the closet, the door already partly open, but a hand snaps out and jerks her back. Not an instant after the door snaps shut, gunfire breaks out.

"You see why I wanted to wait?" he hissed.

"Kinda hard not to," she muttered, working to ignore the way he had her pressed up against his chest.

Finally, a break in the gunfire came. Artemis felt rather than saw Roy reach for something in his belt—a smoke pellet, hopefully.

He didn't disappoint—he opened the door and tossed the projectile out before withdrawing once more, waiting for the smoke to fill the corridor.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded, arrow already notched and drawn. "At your cue, then."

Roy nodded once, and then they were in the corridor, arrows flying. And with another bullet dodged—the figurative kind—Artemis breathed a little easier. That conversation was leading them nowhere Artemis wanted to go.

But she wasn't entirely in the clear just yet.

Once each man had been sent to the ground (or to the closet Artemis utilized halfway through the scuffle), Roy took it upon himself to pick up where they had left off.

"Artemis?"

She grunted, not looking away from her act of binding a man's wrists.

There was a pause before he continued. "All I wanted to say was that you don't have to feel compelled to explain anything to me. I get it."

This time, she faltered, hands freezing with cable tie tangled in her fingers. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder to find he'd turned to face her.

Something traveled between them, and she felt a certain weight leave her shoulders.

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>It was around that time doubt began to set in full force. He'd always questioned the validity of this arrangement, but only based on the risk it posed to him. That, and if it was worth his time to pretend he could ever trust her (this, of course, changed as he invariably found himself spending more time with her). Now, though, it wasn't just about him any more.<p>

Truthfully, he never stopped to consider just how unhealthy this arrangement could be—not for him, but for Artemis. She kept enough secrets as it was. Perhaps to her this was just one more on top of many, but to Roy it seemed as though this could be the last straw. But even as she began to come with him on more than just Friday nights, and then almost every night he was in town, he couldn't bring himself to approach the subject. No matter the arguments he posed to himself, something kept him from talking to her—or anyone at all.

There had been more than one occasion that he had to knock her back into reality, remind her of the principles she had to uphold if she wanted to continue her training, both as Ollie's protégé and as a member of the team. Another warning—_you release that arrow in his heart, you can consider our partnership done_—typically went unspoken, but somehow he got the sense it was that one that had the strongest effect on her.

In the end, though, he remained silent, and watched the lines on her face grow harsher, her body leaner. Even the way she moved changed, her motions growing ever more efficient. It was chilling to watch her take out an entire squad of men, her blows ruthless and unrestrained.

It was also highly distracting.

Artemis, it seemed, felt entirely at home amongst the scum of the earth, knocking them down with a fervor that ensnared anyone that came close enough. She was—for lack of a better word—captivating.

The full implications of that realization, which first became evident when he paused to examine their circumstances, made him uneasy. She might be different from the rest of the team—she clearly had seen and experienced things that could probably give Robin a run for his money—but she was still so young. And whatever experience she might have had before, it hadn't equipped her to deal with the worst crime had to offer. Was she acclimated to it? Yes, clearly—the lack of disgust and fear she demonstrated made that obvious.

But fighting against it was an entirely different battle.

Adding that to the demons she already had to fight, and it was no wonder she was affected so strongly. But instead of pulling it to the forefront and making it impossible to ignore, he shoved it down into the recesses of his mind.

_You're so selfish, Roy Harper._

The voice reminded him too much of Dinah, and he silenced that as well.

All told, he wasn't surprised when Ollie called him—a rare occurrence in and of itself—and asked if he knew anything about Artemis.

"_I know you two don't talk much, but apparently her grades are slipping—she could lose her scholarship._"

Roy stood in his kitchen, debating in silence.

"No. I have no idea what's going on."

* * *

><p>By this point, Roy wasn't entirely comfortable with assuming superiority or dominance over her; he knew an equal from an inferior, and recently she was constantly toeing that line.<p>

But he knew if he had to pull her away—to snap her senses back into place before she killed someone—he would have no other choice but to assume a position where her only option was to listen. If she crossed that line, they'd both have hell to answer to, and he wasn't going to risk either of their uniforms for it.

Fervently, he hoped going to any stronger measures would prove unnecessary, but Artemis was nothing if not… a handful. So he wasn't entirely surprised when he turned to find her holding her bow mere inches from a man, the tip of her barbed arrow gleaming in the low light of the hallway.

He'd caught her in the middle of making a decision; she'd still be open to some form of logical reasoning.

_Hopefully_.

"Artemis!" he called out.

Her chest heaving with effort, she didn't turn to reply. "_What_?" Clearly, she didn't appreciate being distracted.

"Step away, Artemis," he said, beginning to move closer.

"He has another weapon on him," she ground out, still not looking at him. "Bastard won't tell me where it is."

Red Arrow diverted his gaze to the man, who remained pressed against the wall, hands stretched out on either side of him. Sweat ran down his brow, trembling on his chin as the man shook.

"Artemis, he's scared out of his mind." Red Arrow hardly blamed him—Artemis was not the type of girl you wanted to find in a dark alleyway. "He's clearly not going to make a move—just back away and we can restrain him until SCPD show up. If we leave a body behind, GA will hear about this, and then you won't be on hero duty for weeks."

Stomach churning, he found himself likening his experience to that of reasoning with a suicidal kid holding a gun to her head.

The comparison did little to ease his anxiety.

"Don't be stupid, Artemis." He could see her wavering. "He's not worth it. Think about GA—think about the team."

_Think about me._

He didn't say it, but it was there—lingering between them, unspoken but heard.

Finally, with a shaky breath, she withdrew. He could see the beginnings of tremors wracking through her body.

_Probably best to get her out of here._

The mission could wait for another night.

Roy knocked the last man out before grasping Artemis by the shoulder and steering her from the building.

As they ventured out, the anger he'd been holding back for the sake of the delicate situation began to force its way through him. Red tinted his vision, and he felt his grip on Artemis tighten. By the time they reached the roof, he was steaming.

"What the hell was _that_?" he exclaimed. "I let you tag along because you insist on it, because I want to give you a chance to show me that I can trust you."

Artemis, her eyes wide and distant, looked up at him as if he were a stranger. "I don't—that wasn't—" she turned and took a few steps away, wrapping her arms around herself. He could hear her murmuring something to herself.

"Well?"

"I don't know, okay!" she exclaimed, one hand going to her hair. "It just—everything went hazy and _I __don't know_. It was just so familiar and—"

His scowl deepened. "Familiar how?"

She froze, body going rigid. "Nothing—nothing—it's just—"

"I thought we were past the lies, Artemis," he cut her off, shaking his head. "You were making such good progress, too."

She whirled, eyes wild and muscles tensing. "Don't patronize me!"

"Would you rather I treat you like an unstable time bomb? How am I supposed to know that won't happen again?"

"It _won't_!"

They locked stares for several moments, until he came to a conclusion. "Go home, Artemis. Take a week. I don't want to see you until then."

Before she could respond, he was gone.


End file.
